Chapter 4 #2
I crouch beside the clay man, but it looks as if Lothar didn’t even bother to arm my guard.
Maybe the scourge sorcerers figured it would be too dangerous to have any weapon in the room with me, assuming the captured daimon would defend the rest of them by shouting an alarm and battering me with brute strength.
An impression of hollers and pounding footsteps rushes over me. I freeze—and the sounds dwindle rather than rising.
Just another little whiff of insanity. Wonderful.
And it could get so much worse.
I stare down at the fired clay figure, but I can’t see how to do this next part without any magic either. It’ll only take a tiny effort, though.
Wielding my power like a blade, I slice a chunk of clay about the size and shape of a knife out of the man’s torso. The point of the clay shard should be sharp enough to cut flesh.
And if I’ve succeeded in sealing a little of the torn flesh on my head to balance out the consequences, so much the better.
Gripping my makeshift blade, I ease to the door and press my ear to the crack. The only sound that reaches me is the slow rasp of a sleeping breath.
Ever so carefully, I nudge the door open.
It’s as if the scourge sorcerers set up this scene to perfectly cater to me. Zaneta lies sleeping on a mattress that’s been placed on the floor of the outer room, just a few paces from the door.
Presumably Lothar had her stay there in case she needed to leap to subdue me. But it means that she’s within easy reach.
My fingers curl tighter around the clay shard. My muscles balk at the idea of murdering a person so defenseless, no matter what else she’s done to me.
She’s under Lothar’s sway. Who knows how he’s manipulated her?
But she called me to them from miles away when she first brought me under her spell. I’m not safe as long as she’s alive, and that means neither is anyone else I care about.
A distant bugling of a rooster from some neighboring farm stirs me into action. I’ll do it fast and as painlessly as possible, but shit and smitings, I have to do it.
I spring forward and drive the shard of clay into her neck.
Zaneta’s body shudders. Her eyes pop open.
A sputter of blood passes over her lips, but her expression slackens just seconds later.
I press my lips against the urge to vomit and yank myself away from her. My magic roils in my chest with a fiercer shudder, but I hold it in.
If I see Lothar, I’ll destroy him too. But otherwise, I simply have to get away.
My gaze darts through the room and snags on the box I saw one of the other scourge sorcerers stick my locket in. One small blessing.
With a quick dash, I undo the lid’s clasp and retrieve my trinket. Clasping the locket in one hand and my clay blade in the other, I hurry to the next doorway.
The house is quiet. It isn’t until I’ve slunk almost to the ground floor when I hear any voices—a murmuring from down the hall.
“When did Master Lothar say he’d return?”
“I don’t think he mentioned.”
I grit my teeth. The conspiracy’s mastermind isn’t here for me to end him like I did two of his underlings.
I prick my ears to check for any other signs of human presence around and bolt for the front door.
As I race across the yard outside, my head jumbles with a renewed aching.
There’s a stretch of woods in the distance. If I can get to them, I have some hope of disappearing amid the trees.
Of course, I don’t know what kind of tracking magic Lothar and his followers might be capable of…
A soft but urgent nicker catches my attention. I pause at the wall and spot several horses wandering in a corral by a nearby stable.
One of them looks particularly familiar.
Relief swells inside me so abruptly I almost choke on it. I run to the corral, let the gate swing wide, and reach up to hug Toast’s neck when he trots over to me.
Lothar obviously isn’t one to waste potential resources. He held on to the horse he stole with me, thank the gods.
“It’s time we got out of here, boy,” I murmur, shoving the clay blade beneath the corded belt of my dress.
With the help of the wooden fence, I heft myself onto the stallion’s back. Gripping his mane, I tap him with my heels to send him galloping toward the woods.
We flee through the stretch of forest, hurtle across a few fields, and dive into a denser woodland. The sun is high in the sky, my stallion panting, and my head pounding like someone’s trying to chisel into my skull when I finally decide we’ve come far enough.
I don’t know where to go from here. I don’t know who to turn to. But I really have only one option.
Or rather, two options. I’ve still got my makeshift blade if the madness rushes over me and there’s nothing to do but end myself.
Suppressing a wince at that thought, I slide down from Toast’s back and sit against a tree. I rest the blade on the ground next to me within easy reach.
With growing trepidation, I flick open the locket and press my thumb to the surface within.
Then I tip back my head against the tree trunk, my stomach roiling, and wait for the horror of the past day to either end… or get even worse.